And all that was not cruel count as sweet. Back he return’d, all eagerness and joy; Proud as a prince, and restless as a boy. He sought to speak, but could not aptly find Words for his use, they enter’d not his mind; So full of bliss, that wonder and delight 190 Seem’d in those happy moments to unite. He was like one who gains, but dreads to lose, A prize that seems to vanish as he views; And in his look was wildness and alarm— Like a sad conjuror, who forgets his charm And, when the demon at the call appears, Cannot command the spirit for his fears: So Villars seem’d by his own bliss perplex’d, And scarcely knowing what would happen next. But soon, a witness to their vows, I saw 200 The maiden his, if not by love, by law; The bells proclaim’d it—merry call’d by those Who have no foresight of their neighbours’ woes. How proudly show’d the man his lovely bride, Demurely pacing, pondering, at his side! While all the loving maids around declared, That faith and constancy deserved reward! The baffled Lord retreated from the scene Of so much gladness, with a world of spleen; And left the wedded couple, to protest, 210} That he no fear, that she no love, possess’d; } That all his vows were scorn’d, and all his hope a jest. } Then fell the oaks, to let in light of day; Then rose the mansion that we now survey; Then all the world flock’d gaily to the scene Of so much splendour, and its splendid queen. But, whether all within the gentle breast Of him, of her, was happy or at rest; Whether no lonely sigh confess’d regret— Was then unknown, and is a secret yet; 220 And we may think, in common duty bound, That no complaint is made where none is found. Then came the Rival to his villa down, Lost to the pleasures of the heartless town; Famous he grew, and he invited all Whom he had known to banquet at the Hall; Talk’d of his love, and said, with many a sigh, “’Tis death to lose her, and I wish to die.” Twice met the parties; but with cool disdain In her, in him with looks of awe and pain. 230 Villars had pity, and conceived it hard That true regret should meet with no regard— “Smile, my Matilda! virtue should inflict No needless pain, nor be so sternly strict.” The Hall was furnish’d in superior style, And money wanted from our sister isle; The lady-mother to the husband sued— “Alas! that care should on our bliss intrude! You must to Ireland; our possessions there Require your presence, nay, demand your care. 240 My pensive daughter begs with you to sail; But spare your wife, nor let the wish prevail!” He went, and found upon his Irish land Cases and griefs he could not understand. Some glimmering light at first his prospect cheer’d— Clear it was not, but would in time be clear’d; But, when his lawyers had their efforts made, No mind in man the darkness could pervade;